


The Birds Have Flown

by Philosopherscribe



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dark, F/M, Horror, Love Triangles, M/M, POV Ramsay Bolton, Ramsay Bolton is His Own Warning, Romance, Show Canon Ages, Unrequited, bookverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 10:34:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23349985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philosopherscribe/pseuds/Philosopherscribe
Summary: “How does it feel,” His father said suddenly, “for your wife and whore to leave you for each other?”
Relationships: Ramsay Bolton/Jeyne Poole, Ramsay Bolton/Theon Greyjoy, Theon Greyjoy/Jeyne Poole
Comments: 17
Kudos: 48





	The Birds Have Flown

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The characters belong to George R. R. Martin, of course. Some of the dialogue was inspired by a book called The Wise Woman by Philippa Gregory. 
> 
> This was my first fic in the fandom, so please be gentle!
> 
> Thank you so much to Deiwimin for agreeing to beta this fic. Your insights were invaluable!!!

Ramsay Bolton burst like a blizzard into his father’s study. He was in a black rage. That morning, his scream had been so loud and long that the ravens squawked and flew high over Winterfell. Several servants had already forfeited their lives to his rampage, and many scraps of skin. The maids quailed before his long, looming shadow, and kept a safe distance. They were well aware that before the day was done, one of them was bound to end up with a dog named after her. 

Roose Bolton, the pale-eyed Leech Lord, sat at his desk like it was the Iron Throne. He wrote with a flourish, barely glancing up at the intrusion. The ink of his pen bubbled red, as did the flames of the fireplace, much like the luscious blood of a flayed man. His hands were smooth and spidery and polished, no doubt from the hours he spent with knives and peeling skin. Ramsay, of course, had flayed many in his life as well, but none were prettier when they bled than his precious Reek. He felt a rush of yearning, combined with a fresh surge of rage. Reek, the little sneak, had broken his master’s heart. He would pay dearly for it when Ramsay got his hands on him again. 

His Lord father finally looked up. Pale eyes coolly appraised him, like a frozen pair of silver lakes.

“You lost them.” Roose said sternly.

Ramsay felt his cheeks burn.

“You lost them.” Roose said, and his tone took on the cutting edge of a flaying knife. “Your bride has fled with the Greyjoy boy. Right under your very nose.”

“They will not be gone for long!” Ramsay said hotly.

His father’s eyes flared in the firelight. “You lost them, and with them goes our frail hold over Winterfell. I should flay off your cock for this, but I may need it yet to produce an heir, should Walda prove a barren wife.”

That was no idle threat, and both of them knew it. One part of Ramsay was daunted; the other was curious to know if his father’s blades were still sharp, after all these years. But he digressed... 

“They will be back.” He promised darkly. “I will make sure of it.”

“See that you do,” Roose said. “The timing could hardly be worse, with the Starks at our throats and Stannis, our heels. They cannot slip away again from your clumsy peasant fingers.”

His father’s words were always so bitter. But he gagged and swallowed them down, as he had all the other indignities in his life. 

“Fear not, father!” He cried. “No man can equal me as a hunter. My Boys pursue them at every turn, and it will not be long before we catch our birds again.” A wild grin creeped across his face. “Neither of them is strong enough to withstand the cold. Perhaps my Reek will lose a few more toes before we bring him home.” 

Roose just looked at him. His face was like a mask, and Ramsay could not read the expression.

“How does it feel,” His father said suddenly, “for your wife and whore to leave you for each other?”

The question hit Ramsay like a fist between the eyes.

“I really don’t know what you mean.” He said, sulkily. 

His father leaned closer. “Do you take me for a fool?” He whispered. “Do you think I haven’t noticed you no longer rape the women you hunt? Do you think I don’t know why you failed to plant your seed in Lady Arya’s womb?”

“And why is that, father?” Ramsay’s eyes began to gleam dangerously. 

Roose seemed amused by the question. “Your Reek means more to you than anything, even producing an heir.” He said. “He may be your whore, but you are his whipped husband, just like you were with the first Reek. The bodies of the women you raped were merely a medium through which you sealed your bond with him. Lady Arya was a means for you to create a bond with the current Reek.”

Ramsay opened his mouth and shut it. What could he say when his father put it like that? 

“Don’t even try to deny it.” Roose said in a bored voice.

Ramsay seethed internally. He wasn’t a whipped husband, he wasn’t! He had complete control of his Reek, who was just a slow and stubborn pet. Everything was fine. He was going to bring him back and punish him for even thinking he could live without his master, who loved him so much. The first Reek had trained Ramsay to hunt. Ramsay had been the submissive one in that relationship, up until the very end. It was only fair he got to be the dominant one in his relationship with the present Reek. 

His father was right about one thing, though. He had stopped raping the women he killed, because he wanted only Reek. The Lady Arya made him hard, but only when she was writhing in pain, and he could pretend he was touching Reek through her body. She wasn’t even the real Arya, just some common whore trained at a brothel. She bored him with her constant blubbering. Still, she passed for Arya well enough to make him Lord of Winterfell. There was a flint in her brown eyes that reminded him of Kyra, Reek’s former mistress, who had been the last woman he fucked before killing and naming a dog after her. He had underestimated her. He should have known his wife would try to escape. He just did not think she would have it in her.

They were both his, but Reek belonged to him in a way Arya never would. He missed him so much that it ached. The first Reek’s smell had meant that no one but Ramsay would ever want him.

Ramsay was unwanted himself, due to the...circumstances of his birth.

There was a reason he insisted that Arya bathe every day. Their marriage was a farce. She was just a trophy wife. A means to an end. It was fine for other men to want her. It was fun to watch his bitches fuck her. Ramsay forbade Reek from bathing because the smell was good for him. No one but Ramsay would ever love him, and that was how it should be.

_Reek belongs to Ramsay, and Ramsay belongs to Reek._

Roose smiled thinly. 

“You have had both Arya and Reek,” He said dismally. “But in the end, your cock wasn’t enough for either of them. Especially Reek.”

Ramsay glared. An image of the things he made Reek and Arya do on their wedding night surfaced in his mind. That memory had once been great wanking material. But now it haunted him and drove him mad. His pets were together, somewhere far away from their master. His lip twisted. He lunged forward and slammed his fist into the wall. They were probably diddling each other, doing all the things they’d done for his pleasure, without him. One of his hottest fantasies had become his worst nightmare, come to life. 

His father laughed. It sounded like a wet, wheezing cough. Ramsay had never heard him laugh before. He waited patiently for it to subside.

“He had your cock between his legs and now he prefers the peck of a hen! If it were me, I would die of shame.” His father said. “You unmanned him, yet you weren’t man enough to make him love you back.”

Ramsay looked up, and something in him snapped. He could almost hear it twist and shatter in his chest. Ramsay was suddenly calm. He had sought his father’s approval all his life, but it was no use. _It seems I shall be kinslayer again,_ he thought absently _._ Ramsay had felt a twinge of regret over Domeric’s death, but he found himself looking forward to the day he’d kill his father. And he _was_ going to kill him.

_Oh, well. At least I’ll be Lord of the Dreadfort sooner than I thought._

Roose Bolton didn’t notice the change in his mood. He regally leaned back, and waved him away with a dismissive nod. 

“Away with you.” He said. “You are a mess, and I grow tired of it. See yourself out and send for the leeches.”

Ramsay swung out and slammed the door behind him. The rage ebbed away until all that was left was the pain. 

He missed Reek. He even missed Arya. He missed their begging and pleading. Most of all, he missed the way their warm holes clenched and bled around his cock. How had he forgotten the moonstruck looks they gave each other, when they thought he wasn’t looking? When he’d made them diddle each other, he thought only of his own pleasure. It had never occurred to him that they might develop a taste for each other on their own. 

Ramsay was going to bring them back, for he could not live without them, regardless of how they felt about him. Arya wouldn’t go anywhere once he’d planted several sons in her womb. And Reek? He would slowly remove his hands and feet, and keep him as a personal sex slave in his room. No one but Ramsay would ever even look at him, much less think about him again. Soon, his pets would forget each other and live only for him. Ramsay grew hard just thinking about it. 

Ramsay was coming for his pets. Anyone who stood in his way would know knives and fear and darkness and death.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments give me life! Constructive criticism is also welcome.


End file.
